


Codename Butterfly

by Evanescent_Eternity



Category: Original Work
Genre: Absent Parents, Adulthood, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, At least I tried, Bad Parenting, Child Neglect, Comfort/Angst, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Loneliness, Loss, Original Fiction, Other, POV First Person, Parenthood, Personal Growth, Teen Angst, Teen Years, Unresolved Emotional Tension, it's probably a fail, kudos for effort?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 01:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12470412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evanescent_Eternity/pseuds/Evanescent_Eternity
Summary: Butterflies.Beautiful, lovely, and fragile creatures.Yet, I hated them.





	Codename Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the OH! Press Writing Contest @ OneHallyu (prompt: metamorphosis).
> 
> I want to thank my beta reader and friend, CamCam @ OneHallyu, for proofreading this story. Cam, you rock! <3
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!

 

 

Butterflies.

 

Beautiful, lovely, and fragile creatures.

 

Yet, I _hated_ them.

 

I used to walk away when I saw them in the garden, nestled in the flowers. My mother, however, would remain there for hours, chasing or watching them; her eyes enamored by their ''mystical'' sight. She absolutely loved butterflies and was very happy when spring came, as these detestable insects would infest her beloved and well-maintained garden, going from flower to flower and flying around in a carefree manner, with no concern for what would happen to them in few weeks or months—the end of their life cycle.

.

“Ah, butterflies are such impressive creatures, dear…” my mother would say, my head shaking in disagreement.

 

She was another beautiful, lovely, and, above all, extremely fragile creature.

 

_Very much like a butterfly._

 

That had never occurred to me until, one day, without warning whatsoever, she simply dropped to the floor and died right in front of me and my father. Yes, one moment she was talking excitedly about some mundane topic, my forthcoming middle school graduation; the next, she was gone, just like that.

 

I remember hearing my father’s sobs as he called for an ambulance and frantically begged for help, while I cried and screamed for her until my voice eventually disappeared.

 

It was the first time that I yelled her name and received no reply.

 

In the weeks following the funeral, I slept and ate very little. I spent all of my time pacing around the house or lying on the floor of my room, staring blankly at the ceiling. I tore out my hair from pulling it too much. I couldn’t stop crying and shouting for my mother. I had all this raging sorrow within me, but no one to give it to, as my father couldn’t take it off me because his hands were already full of his own mourning. God, he had shut himself in his room and wouldn’t leave no matter what. Furthermore, on one occasion, when I went in there and tried to talk him out of it, he looked pretty much deranged and wouldn’t say a single word.

 

Therefore, at some point, for leaving us behind and in shards, I hated my mother as much as I hated butterflies.

 

 

The start of my first year at a new boarding high school was a relief.

 

Living away from home meant that I would no longer have to witness my father’s self-destructive grief, nor butterflies flying around in my mother’s now neglected garden—a constant reminder that she was gone. Or better yet, maybe there wouldn’t be butterflies at all, since the school didn’t have a green space.

 

Sadly, I didn’t have any luck with the latter.

 

Right in the first week, during the afternoon break, I saw a female student around my age smiling foolishly at some equally foolish (you guessed it) butterflies flying near the courtyard fountain. My reaction? I detested her immediately. Just seeing her there—repeating the same irrational behavior of my mother—made my own grief even greater.

 

The girl’s eyes were glowing with happiness at the sight of about half a dozen colorful butterflies. Her curls bobbed up and down as she chased the silly insects with childish glee, giggling all the while.

 

I hadn't realized that I’d stopped chatting with my classmates until their loud mocking laughter that had brought me back to reality, causing my eyes to tear away from the girl. Hot shame swept over me for letting myself be so taken aback by the vision of a stranger chasing butterflies, of all things.

 

“She must be retarded,” one of my classmates said in a poisonous tone. “We’re in high school, but she’s chasing _butterflies_. She _must_ be, to do that.”

 

“I know, right?” another agreed, chuckling derisively. “But even if she _is_ retarded, I'd still tap that ass any day.”

 

In a contained expression of anger at the comments, my fingers curled around my school bag's strap, clenching it tightly. Yeah, I hated the girl and I thought that chasing butterflies was stupid, but my classmates were taking it too far. Their remarks had been totally vulgar, uncalled-for, and offensive. Gosh, being a human being sucked; I despised being associated with these assholes.

 

Just as I was about to give them a piece of my mind, the math teacher arrived, alerting us that our break was over and that we should return to the classroom at once.

 

I took one last look at the female student and narrowed my eyes. An iridescent butterfly was resting in the palm of her hand, and she was gazing at the creature like it was the most impressive thing in the world. Ugh, I hated her as much as I hated butterflies.

 

Sighing, I left the place in a bad mood.

 

 

After that day, against my better judgment, I found myself always going to the courtyard during the afternoon break, just to secretly observe the female student pursuing butterflies.

 

 

With each passing year, I attended less and less of the recreational activities offered by the school after classes were over for the day; I needed all the free time I could get to study for the college entrance exam, considering my desired college was pretty hard to get into.

 

I gave everything up without thinking twice, without regret, never looking back. But, ironically, I never managed to quit the habit of secretly observing the girl chasing butterflies, although I couldn’t afford to waste time on something like that at all. Yep, the only thing I continued to do religiously was the one that made me feel like an idiot, the one that made me feel ashamed the most.

 

Oh, and do you know what was funny? I _still_ didn’t know a thing about the girl—not even her name.

 

That being said—as the days flew by—the girl got taller and her features became sharper, more grown up, and soon she didn’t look like a teenager anymore, but a young adult. I was struck by the contrast between her mature appearance and her childish glee at chasing butterflies. Perhaps precisely because of this, it was impossible to resist the temptation to watch her pursuing the colorful insects.

 

And, with each passing year, it became harder to believe the reason why I said that I had to hate her.

 

 

Before I knew it, I was graduating high school and boarding the train to go home after years of absence, after years without seeing my father or talking to him (I couldn’t return home during the school holidays or the weekends without him giving the school permission to let me go, which he didn't do). I wondered if he’d be waiting for me, as I knew that the school had informed him about my graduation and arrival at home that day.

 

I had chosen not to attend the graduation ceremony, since I would inevitably end up missing my mother terribly, even after I’d come to terms with her death. When you lose the people you love, you start learning about the way that every happy milestone can also constitute a chance to miss and mourn.

 

To take my mind off such thoughts, I let my eyes roam over the train. Now, imagine my surprise when the girl—no, the young woman—whom I used to observe following butterflies showed up there.

 

I could tell that she, too, had graduated; she was carrying an orchid bouquet, the traditional graduation present given by the school to its students, and a suitcase. I drew a sharp breath, realizing that I wouldn’t see her anymore after the journey reached its end. A sense of loss tightened inside my chest, the urge to approach her growing stronger by the second.

 

I didn’t do it.

 

In the end, I merely got off the train—without ever learning her name. _But that’s okay,_ I thought. _Failure could be the seed of personal growth._

 

 

As I walked through the front door of my home, all I could do was fear that I would find my father in the same deplorable state he’d been in when I moved out years ago.

 

Thankfully, that wasn’t the case at all.

 

When I stepped into the living room, he was waiting for me with a warm smile, looking like the healthy and sane man he used to be before my mother’s death.

 

“It’s good to have you back, kiddo,” he said, helping me carry the hefty suitcase to my room.

 

I sniffed the air and the familiar scent of home, surprisingly, brought me back to a sense of peace and comfort.

 

“Yeah, it feels good to be back, father.”

 

 

Later that day, while unpacking my suitcase, I heard my father’s thundering laughter coming from the garden.

 

_Jesus, It's been so long since I've heard such a happy sound escaping from his lips…_

 

Curious about the cause of it, I left my room to join him.

 

“Hey, what are you laughing about?” I asked, sitting down beside him on the bench. Glancing at the garden, I noticed that it looked well-cared-for and healthy now; my father had done a great job at it. I was glad.

 

“Do you see those two squirrels climbing our tree?” he asked instead of answering, pointing at our cherry tree.

 

“Yup.”

 

“They almost bumped into each other while running.”

 

I snorted, amused. Then, we fell into a comfortable silence.

 

Even as the sun slid behind the scattered clouds across the sky, occasionally blocking us from its harsh rays, the day felt warmer than your average spring day.

 

“You know,” my father started in a thin voice, “it’s unexpectedly easy talking to you.”

 

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

 

“You see, I thought you would be angry with me, considering what I did to you.” He took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for whatever ordeal was ahead. “I wasn’t there for you when your mother died, and you needed me the most. I totally neglected you and your needs. I sent you to a boarding school to avoid having to deal with you… Christ, I had pretty much _abandoned_ you. _”_

 

I stayed silent, pondering the matter for a while, and then I finally inquired, “You thought that I was angry with you… Is that why you didn’t try to contact or see me in all those years, despite having gotten yourself together at some point?”

 

He nodded meekly. “Sometimes you’re too quick to pick up on things, kiddo…” He rubbed his face and sighed wearily. “Yes, that’s one of the two reasons. Besides thinking that you were angry with me, I was ashamed of my attitude toward you after your mother died, so I couldn’t bring myself to face you at all. I still don’t know how I’m doing that right now…”

 

“You weren’t in your right state of mind, so you couldn’t take care of me. I understood that and didn’t resent you whatsoever.”

 

“But I should have been stronger and pulled myself together for your sake. You were just a middle schooler kid, and I failed to support you as a father and an adult. I’m deeply sorry, I really am. And I promise that I'll never wrong you like that again.”

 

“I believe it. Don’t worry yourself over it anymore. Seriously.” I smiled and took his hand in mine, trying to show him that it was okay. “We all have something in our past that we aren’t proud of, right? The thing is, we must know how to accept it, learn from it and forgive ourselves if we really want to be happy today. You pulled yourself together after all, so now let’s focus only on the future, alright?”

 

“Okay… okay. Thank you for being so understanding and forgiving. _Thank you_.” He exhaled a long breath and leaned back on the bench, looking like I had taken a great weight off his shoulders. “God, you’re ridiculously grown up. This may seem like a backhanded compliment, but you’ve gotten so much more out of high school than I ever thought you would.”

 

“Hey!”

 

He gave me a teasing smirk, but the smirk soon grew into a smile when a yellow butterfly circled around us and landed on his arm, making it difficult for me not to smile either.

 

“Father, do you know why mother loved butterflies so much?”

 

“Yes, I do. We talked about it once,” he answered wistfully. “It’s because they're very beautiful.”

 

“Fragile and short-lived,” I added, more out of habit than for believing in such words, like before.

 

“They don’t think that way, kiddo.” My father’s smile got bigger as the butterfly took flight from his arm and nestled in a tulip nearby.

 

"Butterflies aren't capable of complex thought processes, old man!”

 

He didn’t try to contradict me; he merely stood up and walked to one of the flowerbeds, where some butterflies were resting among the flowers. One by one, he began to look at them.

 

“Father?”

 

“She explained that she loved them mostly because of the transformations, kiddo.”

 

“Excuse me?” I blurted, confused as hell.

 

“Your mother loved butterflies because of the incredible transformations they go through, because of their ability to change so much in their short lives. See, as caterpillars, they have to leave everything behind—their whole identity—and go make their own chrysalis. And, once inside the chrysalis, their body tissues undergo a big, dramatic change. It’s an uncomfortable and delicate process, but if they survive it, they crack the chrysalis, deploying a great deal of effort, and emerge as beautiful butterflies.”

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

I stood still, finding no argument to contradict that.

 

Suddenly, I realized that my mother, too, changed as soon as the butterflies arrived. For that period, she didn’t look burned out from work-related stress, but innocent and without a single care in the world.

 

_Again, very much like a butterfly._

 

Then, I also realized why, over all these years, I continued to watch the girl chasing butterflies in the school courtyard: I had fun watching someone go from a small caterpillar, into a butterfly.

 

And, while doing that and entering young adulthood, I gradually came to terms with my mother’s death and even stopped hating butterflies.

 

For changing like that, I guess I took after my mother’s butterfly-like traits. In the end, I had undergone my own metamorphosis. Who knew?

 

My transformations, of course, had been very painful and frightening, but inevitable. After all, to live is to change, and all the struggles and pain that I’d gone through were steps to build a better me. If I hadn’t been allowed to go through life without facing any adversity or feeling pain, I wouldn’t be as strong as I am today. Between pains and longings, I matured and sprung up wings.

 

(Well, that is what I’d like to think, anyway.)

 

“ _Ah, butterflies are such impressive creatures, dear...”_ My mother’s words rang in my ears.

 

I looked up at the sky.

 

_Yes, mother, butterflies are very impressive. You were right all along, I admit it… better late than never, don’t you agree?_

 

The prod of a finger against my chest took my eyes off the sky and up ahead. My father was standing in front of me, looking amused. “Hmm, what is it, old man?” I jokingly uttered.

 

“Wow, you were deep in thought, to say the least. I was talking to you all this time and you didn’t listen to a _single_ word. _Tsk! Tsk!_ Anyway, as I was saying, I cooked a bunch of food to celebrate your high school graduation. Let’s go inside to eat and catch up. We’ve got _so much_ to talk about!”

 

A fond smile made its way across my face. “Sure, sure! By the way, did you make spaghetti? It’s still my favorite dish!”

 

“Ah, some things never change…”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much the first story in English that I posted online. It's also my first story here, on AO3. *sweating profusely*
> 
> Any feedback and review would be super welcome! (๑￫‿￩๑)


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